at Konstandin.
‘He’s lying,’ Konstandin responds coolly. He turns back to Joaquim. ‘I’m going to break your nose and ruin your pretty face unless you tell the truth.’ He raises his fist again and Joaquim flinches. I almost yell at him to stop but then Joaquim holds up his hand to shield himself from the blow and sobs. ‘Stop! OK. I’ll tell you …’
Konstandin half-lowers his fist. I stare at him with my mouth open. How on earth did he know Joaquim was lying? I was about to let him go.
‘What are you lying about?’ Konstandin presses him.
Joaquim glances nervously at me then at Konstandin before deciding not to risk another hit to the face. ‘Emanuel took your friend’s bag,’ he says to me.
I blink. ‘Her handbag? You took Kate’s bag?’
‘Yes,’ he nods. ‘No. I mean, Emanuel did.’
I ignore the fact he’s trying to protect himself by throwing his friend under the bus. They were obviously in on it together. I think back to what Sebastian the landlord said, about hearing people running down the stairs. That must have been them, running off with Kate’s handbag!
‘We need to call the police,’ I say, turning to Konstandin. There’s no argument to be had anymore. They stole Kate’s handbag. Joaquim just admitted it. That’s a crime. He needs to be arrested.
‘No! No police!’ Joaquim shouts, raising his arms as though in surrender. ‘Please.’
Konstandin gives that one-shouldered, on-the-fence shrug of his, by which I can tell he agrees with Joaquim about involving the police. But it’s not their choice. Kate’s my friend. It’s my decision. I pull out my phone. Konstandin lets Joaquim go and steps away, distancing himself from his handiwork, the result of which is blooming across Joaquim’s face. His jaw is already turning a deep red colour from the bruise. I realise if I call the police Konstandin will leave to avoid any questions, and a part of me does regret it, but this is now a police matter. I have to involve them.
‘Please don’t call the police,’ Joaquim pleads again.
‘Give me the bag back and I won’t,’ I say. I’m lying. I’m calling the bloody police.
Joaquim glances nervously up at Konstandin, who is standing over him like a grizzly bear, claws extended.
‘Do you still have it?’ I ask Joaquim.
He nods. ‘It’s for sale. On eBay. But we still have it.’
‘What about all the things that were inside it?’ Konstandin asks. ‘Her wallet?’
Joaquim shakes his head, eyes lowered. He must have spent all her cash.
‘What about her ID and all her cards?’
‘We threw them away,’ Joaquim mumbles.
‘And the phone?’ I ask, thinking of the hundreds of calls I’ve made to it in the last two days. ‘What about her phone?’
Joaquim touches his fingertips to the swelling on his jaw, presses gingerly. ‘We sold that,’ he finally admits.
I stagger backwards a few steps, sucking in air, my hands on my hips, bent over like an old lady climbing stairs. It’s suddenly occurred to me that if Kate hasn’t had her phone on her, or her wallet or any ID, she can’t have gone anywhere. The police thought she’d maybe got on a plane or a train or hired a car, that she’d decided to leave – never mind the fact she left behind all her clothes. I hadn’t really thought they were right but I guess I was clinging on to the hope that maybe, just maybe, they were and she was off doing her own thing. But without her wallet, without cash or credit cards, passport, or her phone, where would she go? What could she possibly be doing?
There’s only one answer. And I have been trying my hardest to stay positive and not think it, except for last night when my imagination ran wild, but now I need to accept it. Something very bad has happened to Kate.
Chapter Sixteen
Twenty minutes later I’m in possession of Kate’s Birkin bag. Joaquim called Emanuel and told him to bring it to the park. We waited and did an exchange – Joaquim for the bag. I rummage through it now as we walk back towards Konstandin’s car, scratching at the lining, trying to find something I might have missed – a clue, a piece of paper with the entire mystery laid out on it, a phone number perhaps? But this isn’t an Agatha Christie novel. The bag is empty.
‘Do you believe him?’ I ask Konstandin when we’re back in the car. ‘That he doesn’t know where Kate is?’
‘Yes,’ he says, turning the keys in